Adventures with a small 'a'

There are Adventures, and then there are adventures.

At this point, I find enough excitement in adventures with a small "a."

On Thursday night, the power went out in a storm. Ben was home for a couple of days, and the four of us were sitting at the kitchen table talking. Suddenly, after a big flash of lightening, the lights out. We couldn't see a thing. The kids headed for the cabinet where we keep the flashlights. We have a few; the little ones worked but the big one needed batteries, which Joe found and installed.

Meanwhile I tried to make my way to the cabinet on the other side of the room for matches to light the candles. I stepped on the dog (who didn't protest) and felt my way around the table. Katie came in with her cell phone open and found me pinned behind a chair against a wall in the wrong part of the kitchen. We found a bunch of matches, and the candles, lit them. It's amazing how quiet it gets in a power outage, with all the background buzzing and humming gone. Sort of makes you want to unplug everything.

Next order of business, according to me: "Save the Klondike bars!" Everyone obliged. Ben went to bed, while Katie and Joe sat in the candle-lit den and sang songs they learned in Spanish class. I kind of puttered around and watched the candles flicker. It was nice. Too soon, the lights came back on.

Adventure #2 was going to a cookout at my friend Ken's house in Ware. The name of the town, of course, elicits an irresistible "Who's on First?" response, as in,

"I'm going to Ware."

"WHERE?"

"I just told you, Ware."

First I had to think through whether I should go or not. There's that whole early recovery period when you're not sure you're up to being with people and answering their questions. Then there's the question of too many germs floating around when in a group. I decided that if it was raining, I wouldn't go because they'd be in the house as opposed to outside.

It was a beautiful sunny day, so off I went. It doesn't take long to get there, but it feels like you're going into the boondocks. It is real country, with horses and old farmhouses and open spaces. Because of my restrictions, I felt I better pack up. I need to keep hydrated, but when it comes to bottled water, I can't drink spring water, only Dasani and Aquafina. I wasn't sure how the tap water would be either. I can't drink beer and I didn't want soda. So I filled a jug with water and took along the glass of iced tea I was drinking so I could have something for "journey," which actually wasn't more than half an hour.

I put some animal crackers in a bag in case there was nothing I could eat and grabbed a handful of Bing cherries, one of my latest must-haves. I knew it was a little silly to bring food (certainly there would be something I could eat), but I needed to do it anyway. Juggling all of this stuff, I got into the car. The cherries promptly rolled out on the passenger seat, but I applied the five-second rule and scooped them up.

The cookout was great. I ate a well-done hamburger, half a hotdog (a dog ran over and scarfed  up the second half after I put it down for a minute) and quite a few desserts, after I scanned them with my X-ray eyes to ensure they were cooked in a clean kitchen. It was good I brought the water, because Ken said his water comes straight from a spring into his well, and I wasn't sure it fit my guidelines.

I was happy to see the people from work who were there. Some still had jobs, but there was a group that had been laid off. We tried to think of a way we could band together and make a lot of money quickly, but, alas, nobody had any ideas.

"Well, if you think of anything, I'm available in six months," I said.

After I said that, I realized I had taken a tiny chance in talking about the future. I didn't hold back in fear of jinxing myself. Making any kind of plan is hard for me to do, because it seems that I've gotten sick several times after planning an adventure that never happened.

But I felt OK with it. I felt good about the whole day.